


Hey Arnold! Shorts

by Kaelanti Cadeyrn (thegreatwordologist)



Category: Hey Arnold!
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-05-18
Updated: 2012-05-18
Packaged: 2017-11-05 13:38:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 1,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/407053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegreatwordologist/pseuds/Kaelanti%20Cadeyrn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of short fiction based on the series Hey Arnold!  This will likely never be finished because each "chapter" is a short work of stand-alone fiction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Foreword

I'd like to say a special thank you to my friends who bore with me as I wrote a story that was not from any fandom they shared with me, and yet still were encouraging and helpful as I did it. As always, my true strength is in my family and friends.

My Readers,  
I'd like to take a moment to warn you that these shorts are not beta-read, or edited beyond my own capabilities. I'm sure you're wondering why I'm taking less care with them than I am with my longer stories, and the truth is that as much as I enjoy writing shorts occasionally as a form of creative-writing exercise, they generally don't hold my attention enough to craft them into this perfect bit of literary excellence. 

However, I do also like to see truthful reviews, and will listen to anyone who might spot something unfavorable about one of the stories. I value others' input, and highly encourage you to respond. And as always, thank you for taking the time to read my works.

Yours,  
Kaelanti


	2. Obsession

Obsession is fourteen pink-bound volumes neatly lined on a bookshelf, with a fifteenth half-finished and tucked away in her backpack.

Obsession is studying deep into the night, so that the answer is always readily available, lingering on the tip of her tongue.

Obsession is the way it feels to breathe through his mouth and inhale her scent, knowing the taste of it rather than the smell.

Obsession is the way her voice sounds to him, musical and sweet even at its most strident, when the words 'four-eyed freak' become a strange sort of endearment to him.

Obsession is believing that somehow, some way, someday she will come to like him like him, when all of his friends try to tell him otherwise.

Obsession is... everywhere.


	3. Stolen Away

She sees the darkness. She always has, since long before her baby sister was born. She knows it far more intimately than she'll ever let on, because the moment she allows herself to acknowledge it, the darkness has won. And she won't let that happen. She can't, if she wants to survive this life intact. 

The darkness is why she chose to go away for school, hiding away from the harsh words, the dismissive tones, the voice so tired and unraveled. All through college, she stayed away, hidden behind a wall of books and papers. And it is only that one Thanksgiving, when her beautiful baby sister is nine and she can see the way the darkness has latched hold that Olga finally realizes the terrible truth. 

She is a strong woman, filled with intelligence and grace and the knowledge that nothing she will face can be as bad as the darkness that pervades her home. But her sister, her dearest, wonderful baby sister, has let the darkness steal into her heart. Olga knew how to keep the darkness away, but she ran from it without ever whispering the secret to Helga.

And in those dark days surrounded by the biting chill of wind too cold to even produce snow, Olga wonders whether they can ever be the sisters that she wants them to be, close friends who rely on each other. Perhaps it is already too late for that. Perhaps the darkness has stolen Helga away.

Perhaps it was Olga who ran too far...


	4. Anonymous

It was no coincidence to Helga that the word Anonymous began with the same letter as her beloved's name. It was the only way she could really tell him how she felt, short anonymous poems that Mr. Simmons read aloud in class. Most of her classmates didn't really pay much attention to the poems, but she thought that Arnold did. It was there in his eyes as he watched Mr. Simmons, in the way his head sometimes tilted ever so slightly to one side. She opened the pink book, pen poised above one of the few remaining blank pages as she stared at the back of his head, and it was that beloved word 'anonymous' that kept her from choking back the feelings within.

  
_Flax-golden tufts beside a pond of blue,  
Bright green beneath, warm depths I seek.  
How could I ever know a love so true,  
How could I give you what I know you're due,  
When my lips remain closed, not daring even to speak?_   


The book closed, and Helga felt her heart give a little jump as Mr. Simmons came to the last word, and paused. There was a look on Arnold's face rather like recognition, but it passed before Mr. Simmons could even open his mouth to assign the reading for that night.

Someday, perhaps Arnold would figure out that it was Helga writing those poems. For now, Helga was happy enough to remain 'Anonymous', if only to see the thoughtful way that Arnold glanced around the room once more. And if his eyes lingered on her for a moment longer than she really thought necessary... well, perhaps he was beginning to figure things out.


	5. -Ing

It started somewhere around kindergarten, this best friend servant relationship that Phoebe has with Helga. It's a comfortable fit for them, and Phoebe doesn't question the health of it. It's not a conscious choice on her part to fall into her role. There's no right or wrong to it. It simply is, a fact of life as immutable as the concept of going to school each year. Though people occasionally look at her oddly when she chirps her one-word reply after one of Helga's directions, no one ever tries to convince her that having Helga for her dearest friend is wrong. And somehow, though she likes to believe that it's because they respect her, deep within her, Phoebe suspects that it's because they're afraid that Helga will make good on one of her threats, and whoever the questioner is will wander away with a broken nose.

"Hey Pheebs," comes Helga's voice, invading Phoebe's reverie as she waits near the door for Helga to finish writing whatever it is. "Go make sure I get a tapioca." Phoebe nods, her shoulders straightening minutely as she turns to head off. It's always like that, with Helga giving her orders and her own, simple responses. 'Go get me this,' answered with 'Getting!' 'Record that show' with 'Recording!' From outside view, it's a one-way relationship, but it's impossible to see the sense of pride that Phoebe feels when the answered directions bring a small smile to Helga's face. Deep within her, Phoebe knows that no one could truly understand all the ways their friendship works. Even to Phoebe, it simply does.

"Going!"


	6. Classic

He spends the morning alternately listening to the teacher and plucking spitballs out of his hair. The hairs on the back of his neck prickle at times, the odd feeling rather like ants crawling over his skin, and whenever they do, he turns, staring straight at Helga. It always takes her a moment to look back at him before the expected hiss of "What?", and it is only when he hears that air-wrapped syllable that he turns back to face forward again, using the motion to knock a few more spitballs from his hair.

When the bell rings, he hears her tell Phoebe to go get her lunch, and he glances at Gerald, who's lingering at his desk. "I'll meet you in the hall," he says, and Gerald nods, a smile breaking over his face. He watches as his best friend falls into casual step beside Phoebe, and then he is turning away to look at Helga.

"Helga," he says, and has the pleasure of seeing her jump a little as she hastily closes her math book. 

"Arnold," comes the breathy gasp, and for a second, there is a smile warring with the panic in her eyes. But it is only there for that second, before it washes away into the smirk he knows so well. He could almost believe he imagined the whole thing. "What do you want, Football Head? Did you finally wise up and send Tall Hairboy to do your bidding?"

He sighs. It's all he can really do when she acts like this, all high and mighty. He knows, deep within himself, that there's something more to her, something softer hidden behind that brick and mortar wall of sarcasm she keeps up. But he's not in the mood to deal with it. "Could you stop throwing spitballs at me?" he asks instead, folding his arms over his chest. As she starts to profess her innocence, he points down at the half-torn paper on her desk. "I'd really appreciate it, Helga."

There is a moment of silence, as he watches her gauge his face. And then she shrugs, opening her backpack just to the side of her desk and sweeping everything on the surface inside in one quick motion. "Whatever you say, Arnoldo," she says, swinging the pack around as she stands, so that she can brush past him before the words are even done. "Whatever you say."

He stands there, frowning at the empty desk as he hears her step out of the classroom, and then a disgruntled mutter escapes his lips. In the manner of the universe, it is perfectly timed to Helga's soft croon of delight, as her hand comes up to caress the arm that slid against his. As with the myriad of other clues, this one has slipped away from him, leaving his suspicions still only that.


End file.
